


Feathers

by Acaranna



Series: Angels [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Pack, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, M/M, No Blood, OFC - Freeform, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, death-mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 07:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acaranna/pseuds/Acaranna
Summary: Four murder victims with no sign of outside influence. Each one with is found with a feather. Three burned and one intact. Then Lydia finds a feather on her windowsill. What does it mean?





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is my entry for the Sterek Reverse Bang 2017. I had the pleasure of working with the wonderful [ sterekcomfort ](https://sterekcomfort.tumblr.com/). She provided me with an amazing piece of art (which you can find HERE!) and a gorgeous idea for the story. In fact, she sparked so many ideas that I couldn't put all of them into this story. So, they will get their own stories later on and will join this one in a series.
> 
> Nevertheless, this story is complete and can be seen as a standalone. So I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> Special thanks go to my girl [ Larissa ](http://ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com/) who did the last minutes beta-reading. If you find mistakes or think I need to tag something else, too, then please let me know. We are all just human and miss things.
> 
> So, for real now - Enjoy!

“A watched clock never moves.”

Stiles knows just _how_ true that proverb is. He always gets reminded of that fact when he is stuck once more in detention because Harris decided to be a dick. Again. Most of the time he ends up staring at the damn thing for what has to be an eternity before the minute hand decides to move. Most of the school clocks don’t even have a seconds hand to watch tick by anymore and he can only count the seconds for so long before his brain stumbles over a stray thought and he has to start again. He wonders briefly what happened to the seconds hands.

Thankfully, the clock he watches in that moment isn’t located anywhere near the school.

His gaze is locked onto the clock sitting above their kitchen door. It does have a seconds hand but that one doesn’t seem to move either. Well, it does, but the movement constricts to jumping to and fro across the ‘6’. Stiles’ eyes follow it for a little while until he’s almost dizzy with it. Then he closes his eyes, rubs the palms of his hands across his face and sighs loudly.

He is annoyed and bored out of his mind. Which is a bad combination and usually tends to end up in one or two bad ideas or a six hour session of link jumping on Wikipedia. Not that he has time for either since his dad is supposed to come back from getting whatever he has forgotten in the cruiser.

Stiles huffs out a breath and carefully pushes a few papers out of the way before he lets his head drop onto the table. His dad has brought files home with him again but they’re not really interesting to read through. Mainly thefts and the odd noise complaint. Probably Mrs. Swenson, from down the road again. That woman would complain about a sneeze and already has, now that Stiles thinks about it.

He stares at the papers in front of his nose and wonders why his dad brought them home. They’re not complicated, at least not at first glance. Maybe there is something hidden in all of them? He hasn’t looked through them very thoroughly yet and there could be something he hasn’t seen. Maybe he should look at them one more time?

He sits up and pulls the first paper close when the front door opens and closes again. His dad comes into the kitchen, his gaze focused on another file. Stiles looks up just in time to see him scowl at whatever report he is reading.

“New case?” he asks, shoving the file he reached for away again. “Given your expression it’s a complicated one? Or is it gruesome? Can I take a look at it?”

“Stiles,” his dad shakes his head and closes the file. “How many times do I have to remind you that these are police files, which means that they’re not meant for your eyes?” He sets the file onto the table, right on top of Mrs. Swenson’s complaint. Stiles grins because that was a deliberate move if he ever saw one.

“Come on, Dad,” he still grins but his tone turns pleading. “You know that I can help you! Already did a couple of times. Maybe I can help you with this one, too! Come to think of it – why did you bring these here?” He picks up what turns out to be a page that belongs to a theft. “Is there something connecting all of these cases? Or do you think there is and we need to find it? I’m sure I can find the connection!”

“Stiles,” his dad sighs.

“Maybe the thief always took the same thing? Did Mrs. Swenson hear something important and that’s why she complained?” Sheets fly from one side of the table to the other when Stiles starts digging through them in an attempt to locate the first page of Mrs. Swenson’s statement.

“Stiles,” the sheriff says again, louder this time.

“I mean, there has to be something connecting then, otherwise you obviously wouldn’t have brought them home with you to look them over.” Stiles shoves pages to the side and scrambles after them when they slip off the table. He barely manages to catch them and lands on his knees when he leans too far forward. The floor isn’t quite as comfortable as it seems.

“Stiles!” Uh oh, that is his dad’s serious voice. Stiles jumps up and winces when his knees twinge in protest. He needs to hold onto table to stay standing. It seems that their last run in with The Nasty Of The Week hadn’t quite resolved itself just yet.

“Yes, dad of mine? What can I do for you?” His dad shakes his head and his shoulders shake minutely. A chuckle is generally a good sign so Stiles grins, too.

“Well, if you ask like that,” the sheriff starts and walks over to the coffee maker. He pours himself a mug and walks back over to the table. “You could stop crumbling the files you’re holding there. I need to take them back to the station after all.” Stiles looks down, winces and sheepishly straightens the papers out on the table. There are a few new creases now but at least it’s still readable.

“And then you can sort those files out if you like.” Stiles lights up, sorting them through means he can read them and he can probably find out what connects them all. His dad smirks, though, which puts a slight damper on his excitement. He knows that kind of smirk, he even likes seeing it aimed at other people. It is just when the smirk is aimed at him that Stiles tends to get a little nervous.

“Our new deputy managed to topple over one of the file cabinets. You know the one with the faulty drawers? The office looked like something exploded in there and since I knew you would be too curious for your own good, I decided to take them home and let you have a go at sorting them through.”

Stiles stares at his dad while his mouth opens and closes in silence. He can admit that he hasn’t been expecting  _ that _ to be the reason for the paper covered table. It is so much less exciting than he had hoped. Unfortunately his father doesn’t seem to be finished with his list.

“You can also mow the lawn and do the laundry that you promised to do a week ago.” Stiles whines and pouts but his father only smirks wider at him. He smirks and sips his coffee like he has no worries in the world.

“But dad, I have been busy, you know that!” The protest is weak and they both know it. His dad is just as busy at the station. Which is why he only responds with a pair of raised eyebrows that remind Stiles a little too much of a certain werewolf.

He swallows the next whine and nods in resignation. Sorting the files shouldn’t take too long either and maybe there is something interesting in them. Or at least funny, like the thief that got scared of the homeowner’s cat and fell out of the window in his haste to escape. Granted, Stiles knows the cat in question and wonders sometimes, if it isn’t supernatural, too. Yet Scott keeps telling him that it is only a regular cat with a protective streak a mile wide.

After waiting another few seconds hoping that his dad will relent Stiles pulls out the chair in front of him and drops into it. His dad chuckles when he starts to gather all the papers in order to put them into a neat little pile on his right side. The empty cases get spread out on the table in two rows.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” his dad walks over to the sink to put his empty mug down. “I’m going to get changed and start on dinner then. Any requests on that?”

“Just something healthy will do,” Stiles answers absently, his eyes scan over the page trying to figure out which case this sheet belongs to. “A salad maybe and do we still have some fish in the freezer?” He looks up just in time to see his dad roll his eyes and head out of the kitchen. He listens for his dad’s steps because he knows that his dad will make a stop at the drawer right next to the stairs. The one that holds the not so secret stash of sweets. It’s the only one Stiles lets slide because his dad only ever takes one a day.

The phone rings just when his dad reaches the third step. Stiles knows that his father wants to take his shower sooner rather than later, so he jumps from his chair and races over to the phone on the counter. It slips from his fingers but he catches it just in time.

“Stilinski,” he hears his father’s voice a second before he can answer himself. His name gets stuck in his throat. His dad’s voice is serious and a little like he expected the call to come. Come to think of it, he should not have been able to reach the phone this quickly. So the only explanation is that he took the second phone with him. 

“It’s Deputy Ricks, Sir,” a female voice answers. “We got another one, out in the preserve. A woman, about twenty to twenty-five years old. No sign of another person or outside influence just like with the other two. She looks like she simply fell over dead.” Her voice is calm, collected and professional. Stiles bites his lips to keep quiet. He wants to ask so many question but he knows that he can’t make a noise. Otherwise his father will know that he’s listening in.

“God save us,” his father lets out a tired breath. “Was there anything else at the crime scene? Something else that connects her to the other two victims besides the lack of outside influence?” His tone alone is enough to increase Stiles’ curiosity. It is clear that there is more to the case than a young woman having dropped dead in the preserve.

“Yes, there is,” Deputy Ricks pauses and the faint sound of paper rustling comes over the line. “She laid on her back, just like the other two. Her hands were settled on her stomach and there was a –“ more paper rustling and Stiles is so close to whining because he’s so curious. “There was a burned, black feather between her lips.”

“Just the same as the other two then,” his dad sounds exhausted and Stiles feels a pang of guilt in his chest because here he is barely holding his mouth shut while his father sounds like he is ready to drop himself. Adding to that he has tried to make it a normal evening for them.

“May I speak freely, Sir?” the deputy speaks slowly like she has to carefully decide what she wants to say. It surprises Stiles a little because most of the deputies know that they can speak rather freely with his father. She could be the newbie, though. His dad mentioned something a few weeks prior.

“Of courses, Deputy. What do you have on your mind?” The answer is as quick as it is predictable. Stiles can’t help the smile on his face.

“There is nothing we can do tonight, Sir,” she says a little surer now. “You should stay at home and try to get some sleep. The evidence will still be there when the sun is up and we have a fresher head on our shoulders again.” The more she says the clearer and firmer her voice turns and Stiles likes her already.

His father remains silent for a long time. He contemplates her words like he does with all his Deputies. Stiles learned early on that while his father is the sheriff of this town he respects and accepts the advice from his deputies as many times as he refuses it.

“You’re right, there is nothing we can do tonight,” his father admits and Stiles swears he can hear a sigh of relief coming from down the line. His own bleeds out silently. “I’ll be back bright and early to go over the evidence. But if we don’t get something soon we may have to call in help from out of town.”

Something cold settles in Stiles stomach.  _ Help from outside _ rarely means something good. More than once it meant that a certain someone came in and stuck his nose into their business. Adding to that his best friend, Scott, along with his mother Melissa would be faced with their past yet again.

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir. Good night,” Deputy Ricks says which pulls Stiles from his thoughts. He listens to his father wishing her a good night, too, and waits until his dad ends the call. Sure fingers turn off his phone and put it back into the station.

Stiles is back in his chair with papers in his hand when his dad makes another appearance in the kitchen. He looks as tired as his voice indicated and Stiles feels bad for him. Being a sheriff is never easy but the cases with a body count are always the worst. Maybe he should think about a spot to hide the Jack. Not that he doesn’t trust his father but it is always better to be safe than sorry.

“Go to bed, Stiles,” his father smiles grimly. “Those papers will still be here in the morning.”

He nods silently and watches his dad leave. His phone is in his hand mere seconds later. They need to have a pack meeting, sooner rather than later. With no clear sign of outside influences something else has to be the reason for the deaths. And who knows, maybe it’s something supernatural. Again.

*~*~*

It is two days later when Stiles opens his front door to find Scott waiting with both Allison and Lydia behind him. His best friend looks determined yet worried which makes his puppy dog eyes even more pronounced. Not that Stiles will ever tell him so, because they are lethal on a good and happy day.

“Hey!” Stiles spreads his arms with a grin and Scott steps right into the hug. He sees Lydia rolling her eyes over his best friend’s shoulder while Allison grins.

“As if you haven’t seen each other at school today,” Lydia shakes her head but there is a small smile forming, too. It took them a long time to get over the trauma with Peter’s resurrection and the troubles that followed afterwards. These days, though, they are a tight-knit group of friends that would go through fire for each other; and already did on one memorable occasion.

“Oh let them be, Lydia,” Allison laughs softly. “You know that they are practically attached at the hip. And not even in the sexy way.” Her grin widens when Scott starts pouting before the words sink in and he shakes his head with wide eyes. Stiles chuckles and glances over, first at her and then at Lydia.

“You have been spending too much time with them, Ally,” Lydia sighs mournfully but the glint in her eyes tells everyone who can see that she enjoys their pack banter. “You’re already sounding like him. Maybe we should do a ‘girls only weekend’ again.”

“Sounds good,” Allison smiles. “I can show you our favorite camping ground! And maybe we’ll start with the crossbows again. You showed so much potential for it the last time we tried. I wonder if Dad still has that tent we used on our camping trips.”

She looks so excited by that prospect, even going so far as to clap her hands together, that Stiles feels a little bad when he starts laughing. Lydia’s expression, though, is too much to handle. She looks elegantly horrified by the idea of sleeping somewhere out in the wilderness. Again.

“It does sound like something we could do as a pack, too? It would be a great bonding experience!” Scott’s eyes grow wide and hopeful. It is enough to trigger another bout of laughter from Stiles, who already holds his sides and finally has to lean against his best friend to keep from falling over. This time he isn’t the only one laughing though, because Allison has her hands clamped over her mouth to muffle the noise. Trust Scott to take the joke at face value, even he can hear it in Allison’s heartbeat.

“You were joking again, weren’t you?” Stiles sees the exact moment when Scott’s little dream trip and pack bonding hopes fall to pieces. His laughter dies and he shakes his head while Allison works on stifling her chuckles. Only Lydia looks unruffled.

“Great,” Stiles huffs sarcastically, “now I feel like I kicked a puppy. And that is not a nice feeling. The only thing worse is disappointing someone. Mainly my father and how did we get to that topic again?” He reaches up and runs his hand through his best friend’s hair while Lydia and Allison just stare at him. They should be used to his ramblings by now.

“Hey! Stop that! Why do you always do that?” Scott ducks away from him and runs his own hand through his hair, which ends up leaving it looking even worse. The girls remain quiet, Lydia only shakes her head in a manner that clearly says:  _ “Boys. Why do we need them again?” _

“Jackson’s coming,” Scott says suddenly. They all turn to look down the street where slowly the noise of a running motor grows louder. A few seconds later headlights rush around the corner.

“It’s about time,” Lydia takes a few steps away from the porch into the direction of the road. The car rushes down the street, faster than the speed limit allows. The tires squeal when it turns the corner to Stiles’ house and the backend slides a little across the asphalt.

“Sometimes I wonder, how Jackson has never been stopped by a deputy for driving like that,” Allison asks, wide eyed. Stiles just snorts and steps up beside her. He leans onto the banister, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm onto the wood.

“You do know who his father is, don’t you?” The question is casual but Stiles knows his annoyance shines clear through. He is the son of the sheriff and yet he already has four speeding tickets to his name. Which is hilarious given how old his Jeep is already. Most days he has to practically hop and dance around it in order to get it started.

“That shouldn’t make him immune to the law,” Allison sounds a little put out. Stiles glances over at her and she pouts a bit. He smirks.

“No, it shouldn’t but that’s the way life goes. Why are you upset about that, by the way? Got a ticket of your own?” He laughs out loud when her pout gets more pronounced. She even crosses her arms in front of her body.

“Dad refuses to pay it because ‘I should have been more careful when driving down that road’,” she shrugs. “It’s not my fault that the witch decided to flee that way. How should I have known that they were patrolling that route on that day! It made no sense! I mean –“

“Oh my god,” Stiles breaks down laughing. “You’re really starting to sound like me!”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing, Stilinski?” Jackson calls out which only serves to make him cackle even harder. His whole body shakes hard enough that he needs the banister to hold him up.

“Stiles? Are you okay? You’re starting to sound slightly hysterical,” Scott sounds worried. He has remained unusually quiet over the past few minutes.

“I’m … I’m okay, Scotty, don’t worry,” he is breathless but the rush is almost over. “I think, I just needed to get some tension out of my body. I’m good now.” It is only then that Stiles realizes just how true his words are. He has been unusually tense over the past two days. His already erratic sleeping schedule has been even worse.

“I doubt that anything about Stilinski is ‘okay’, McCall, and there is no cure for that,” Jackson’s words lack their usual heat, though. It sounds more like something he says because it is expected of him and not because he really believes it. A habit more than anything.

“Right, we should head inside. There is a lot to discuss.” Lydia, as always, takes the reigns and ushers everyone onto the porch. Scott may be the Alpha but he is not very organized. He also rarely takes the lead during the pack meetings. Something Stiles has to talk to him eventually . Just not that evening. They have something else to work through.

“I prepared the living room,” Stiles runs a hand across his face and through his hair while he leads the way inside. “Snacks and drinks are in the kitchen, as always. ”

He doesn’t wait to see if they follow him. He knows they will. His mind focuses on the case already, running through all the preparations he got done in the last two days. He has a sheet with all the recent information he could gather until that point. His flipchart holds a map of Beacon Hills and the surrounding area while stickers mark the three crime scenes.

Stiles looks at the map again and tries to find something that might give him an indication of what they are looking for. Some supernatural creatures, as well as some human beings, like to recreate occult symbols with the crimes they commit. So far, though, the only thing he sees is a lopsided triangle.

“Wow, that looks like the sheriff’s office! Just, you know, smaller, and with less empty coffee mugs standing around,” Scott says and derails Stiles’ thoughts enough to make him turn around. The pack stares at him and his little set up. He shrugs.

“Just how much time do you spend in your dad’s office?” Lydia asks as she lets her eyes wander over the map and the stickers. She doesn’t comment on the act that they are small roses and violets.

“There have been many, many days where I didn’t have a car,” Stiles sighs with fond memories. “Or where Melissa wouldn’t let me hang with Scott because of something or another. Or days when my dad wouldn’t leave me alone at home and anyway, that has absolutely nothing to do with our meeting tonight. So please, take a seat.”

He waits while the others squabble over who is allowed to take the recliner or the couch and who will end up on the floor. It doesn’t surprise him in the slightest when Scott plonks down in front of Allison, though. Sometimes his best friend reminds him more of a puppy than a fierce werewolf.

“As you guys might have heard on the news or through the grapevine,” he looks over at Jackson who merely raises his eyebrows. “Three bodies have been found over the last two weeks.”

Stiles swallows and proceeds to explain everything he found out when his father left him in his office the day before. He tried to read through the reports as fast as he could before he copied the photos with his phone. Two of them were too blurred to be useful but the others looked good.

“So, now we have three dead bodies, with no wounds whatsoever, no outside influences and with a burned feather between their lips,” Stiles concludes with a sigh. He takes a sip from his water and looks at his pack. “And as far as the police found out those three people had nothing that might connect them. Besides the obvious, I mean.”

Silence settles over the living room while everyone tries to comprehend what is going on. Stiles leans back against the table, glass in hand and mulls over the case. There is no obvious indication that this has been caused by something supernatural and yet he can’t shake the feeling that there is something brewing just beneath the surface.

“You think that there is a new monster behind all of this, don’t you?” Lydia looks at him with a raised eyebrow. Of course she can read him like an open book. Ever since they sat down and talked about everything, from his five year plan to her keeping her intelligence hidden, they got closer. Not close in the sense of a growing romantic relationship but in the sense of friendship. It would never be as close as his brotherhood with Scott, but it definitely had potential.

“I do,” he nods and puts his glass down onto the table. “There are no clues whatsoever, though. No fingerprints, no DNA samples, nothing. Also, I think that the victims weren’t exactly human either.” He holds up a hand when the others start to speak all at once. It takes a few minutes before they settle down again and can continue.

“So far I don’t have an idea what they could have been or if I’m even right with my thoughts. But something tells me that this is where we should start. It could, potentially, narrow down the list of beasts we need to watch out for. Or probably prepare for.”

“Are you sure that there isn’t just a serial killer running around Beacon Hills?” Jackson asks and Stiles fights hard to hold the eyeroll at bay.

“Dude, you just answered your own question,” Scott says, taking the words right out of Stiles’ mouth. “This is Beacon Hills! When has it ever been  _ ‘just a serial killer’ _ ?”

“First, do not call me ‘dude’, McCall,” Jackson growls, eyes flashing blue for a second. Scott flashes his own eyes once and the growl subsides.

“And second, we can only talk about our own time here,” Jackson continues, more subdued now. “Who knows what this town was like before everything went to shits, right? So, it could just as well be a simple serial killer.”

“There is nothing  _ ‘simple’ _ about a serial killer, Jackson,” Lydia’s voice is icy. “A serial killer, even a human one, is dangerous enough to warrant us being on our guard. Not just that but to keep our eyes open in case we see something suspicious. We aren’t the police nor should we get into close contact with the serial killer – if there is one. But, seeing as we are all gifted in one way or another, we should do what we can to protect our home.”

Stiles doesn’t even try to fight off the smile threatening to take over his face. Lydia hadn’t been happy when the supernatural world revealed itself to her. She was even less happy about the fact that she was a part of said world. It took quite a while and a lot of dangerous adventures before she became fed up with being attacked and started to fight back. After that it wasn’t long before they started to plan together.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he reaches down to pull it out. A text message waits for him and Stiles knows who it is before he even opens it.

_ We need to talk. – Derek _

_ What do we need to talk about, Sourwolf? – Stiles _

_ Don’t call me that! And you know what we need to talk about. – Derek _

_ Nope, no idea and nope, I won’t stop calling you Sourwolf, Sourwolf. But I’ll give you a call later on. – Stiles _

He gets no further message, which isn’t all that surprising. Derek is a man of few words. He would use even fewer if Stiles could understand the differences in his growls. So far he can only differentiate between three of them. The angry growl, the annoyed growl and the growl that means ‘I’m hurt, possibly dying, but shut the hell up and leave me alone’. It is different with the eyebrows, though. Stiles is pretty sure that he can write a dictionary about them. Maybe he should do that when he has the time.

“So, what do you think, Stiles?” Scott eyes him pleadingly and Stiles winces. His thoughts drifted once again it seems.

“Sorry, got a bit distracted there,” he shrugs and grins sheepishly. “What do I think about what?”

Lydia rolls her eyes while Scott looks at him with something akin to betrayal. Maybe he should have been paying attention. It is, once again, Jackson who clears the air with his gentle and loving voice.

“We think that Scott should get his mom to get the samples for us. She works at the hospital and knows where they keep the bodies. She can also get down there without it looking too suspicious,” he explains. “But our dear Alpha here doesn’t want to get her involved in this.”

Jackson sounds bored but there is some understanding beneath his voice. Stiles understands his best friend, too, but he knows that it is impossible.

“Scott, dude,” he sighs and shakes his head. “As much as I want to agree with you, I can’t. See, I don’t want my dad involved either but he is the sheriff and it’s his job to get involved. Especially when there is a body count. The same goes for your mom. She is a nurse and while she does not work in the morgue she will get involved if there are people hurt. I’m sorry but that idea is what I had in mind, too. It’s the easiest way to get what we need.”

His heart breaks a little when Scott’s shoulders droop and he nods in defeat. Stiles isn’t fond of doing this to his best friend, but things need to be done or Beacon Hills could fall into the hands of whatever monster of the week decided to get involved. Ignorance could be bliss but not when you’re living so close to a magical lure.

“I’ll ask her then,” Scott huffs and leans back when Allison’s hand slips into his hair. He turns around to look at her and she gives him a soft smile. “We have to protect those who can’t protect themselves, right?”

“That we do,” she grins. “And we will. I’m going to warn my dad and see if he has some knowledge on winged or feathered creatures.” The last words are aimed at Stiles and Lydia, who nod.

“Unfortunately I don’t have anything more at the moment,” Stiles runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer now and he wonders whether or not he should cut it again. “So, until we find out more we will have to keep our eyes, ears and noses open. Anything suspicious will be shared with the class and we will see if we can figure out who or what is attacking us this time.”

They all nod in agreement before Jackson sits up and starts speaking.

“We should hope that this resolves itself quickly, though,” he says, a little nervous when all eyes land on him. It’s a little unusual. “My dad said, that if the sheriff can’t figure this out quickly he will get the FBI involved. And we all know who usually ends up being the agent on the case.” His eyes dart towards Scott who suddenly looks pale and angry.

“There will be no need for him to show up here,” he growls and Stiles remembers that his best friend with the puppy-dog eyes is, in fact, an Alpha werewolf after all.

*~*~*

Beacon Hills. A small town with barely enough inhabitants to even warrant the title of ‘town’. Well, if she compares it to the larger than life pools she visited on her journey by now. New York, for example had been glorious. Azza didn’t have to care about who she picked off and where she left them. The population had been half and half so she actually cherry picked her victims.

Everything went well until the local power holders caught wind of her and what she did. So she packed her bag and left. Her path led her all over the country, through big cities and little towns. She liked the cities and usually stayed there for a couple of days. The countryside not so much. There were often only human inhabitants and they weren’t worth enough to count. Unless she collected them in large quantities. And that was always a hassle.

Her boots click softly on the pavement when she walks up towards the house. Rumors led her into this sleepy little town and curiosity has always been her weakness. Yet she hasn’t been able to figure out whether all of the rumors are true or not. A few she could already cross off, though, like the darkness that lingers just beneath the surface. And the rather high population of supernatural beings in a town as small as Beacon Hills.

So far she has already bagged three pretty rare gems, which will sell for a good price and help her rise on the high score board. Even if the rest of the rumors aren’t true or have been amplified for better tales the little trip to Beacon Hills has been successful. That doesn’t mean she can’t take a look into the other ones, too.

“Now where are you?” One of the stories Azza has heard on her trip could prove to be true because the closer she gets towards the house the more her fingertips tingle. A powerful soul lives inside that house. Not as powerful as the one she managed to snag in Las Vegas but still pretty powerful. And  _ human, too. _ Well, as human as one can be with that kind of power running beneath their skin yet she can’t sense anything supernatural beside the energy.

Azza hops across the fence and slows down when she gets close to a window. The curtains aren’t drawn shut completely and the light inside is on. She sees a young man, cleaning up a lot of papers and a flipchart. Is that supposed to be him? It can’t be him because that little slip of a human being is not able to canalise the amount of energy she feels around this house.

“Hey Derek,” the voice is muffled through the glass but she can hear him well enough. He is on the phone with one hand stuffed into his jeans pocket.

“Well, it’s nice for you to call and yeah, I am really well, thank you for asking.” She slaps her hand across her mouth to keep the giggles in. There is so much sarcasm in so few words and it is rather funny to listen to it.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. How’s Malia? Any progress on her speech yet?” He is silent for a while, listening to the other participant. It is one of these times where she wishes for the super-hearing were-creatures have.

“Really? That’s great! I’m glad that it’s working out so well. You see, my idea of placing her with Kira and her family was another good one.” He’s quiet for a moment again before he frowns slightly.

“Now, come on, dude,” he whines and it looks like he wants to stomp his foot. Like a child. How cute. No, he really can’t be the one with the energy but he is fun to watch. “You know that my ideas are always great! They don’t always work out that well but the ideas in itself are great! It’s not my fault that -”

He falls quiet after something this Derek guy said. Another bout of silence follows in which the boy sways from side to side as if he can’t stand the thought of staying still.

“Seriously?  _ That’s _ what you’re taking as an example? That was one time, Derek, one time and even you admitted that the plan sounded good!” He waves his free hand around as if to point at something. Or to swat away a fly, she isn’t sure which one.

“Now, dude, if my plans suck then yours suck even more! I mean, who thought it was a good idea to attack a kelpie head on? Who thought that rushing into a coven’s meeting was a good idea? Or the time with the troll? Whose fault was that? Here’s a hint – it wasn’t me!” 

The boy sounds more annoyed than angry though, like this discussion happens regularly. She wonders who that Derek guy is. Maybe the one who suffused the house with this energy? It could be possible. Azza sneaks closer but her bag gets caught in a bush that has been hidden in the shadows and the glasses she keeps in it clink together, loudly. Her breathing stops and she glances into the room. Thankfully the boy hasn’t seen her yet. He seems to be listening intensely to what the other boy –man? – is saying.

“That was a little too close,” she scolds herself and returns to eavesdropping. Though she does get a bit closer to the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard my dad talk about it – What? No, no, on the phone,” the boy scratches the back of his neck. “Hey! How else am I about to get any news in this town? You can’t rely on the papers because they usually blow things out of proportion! Remember Mr. Higgins vanished cat? Either way, you can’t expect us to remain inactive when there have been  _ three _ bodies already. Three, Derek. We have a body count that has no visible cause!”

She freezes once again before shaking her head. Of course they found the bodies. She hadn’t done anything to hide them after all. And in a town this small? News of dead bodies possibly spread like the plague back in the days. She smirks.

“Derek,” the boy sighs wearily. He rubs his free hand across his face. “Beacon Hills is just as much your home as it is mine and we will not just stand by while you and your pack of puppies rush headfirst into yet another dangerous situation! Haven’t the last two years taught you anything? Hell, I even managed to teach Scott how to be cautious! Which, granted, wasn’t all that hard due to the years before, but after he became an Alpha, too, his head got a little bigger.”

She frowns. Two Alphas then? It is literally unheard of because werewolves are territorial bastards that don’t tolerate a second Alpha in their area. The larger the pack, the larger the territory and the bloodier the fights.

Two Alphas, two packs and a house that is suffused by familiar energies. Maybe this little town is much more interesting than she thought it would be.

*~*~*

Stiles leans back against his desk and stares at his wall. It is covered with a map, pictures, newspaper articles and various red strings connecting different pieces of evidence. Not that there is much to connect at the moment, which is the reason for Stiles less than stellar mood.

He has no starting point. Nothing connects the victims and as of yet Melissa hasn’t been able to secure them a bit of tissue that they could take to Deaton in order to see whether or not the victims are supernatural. It frustrates him to no end and Stiles is glad that his hair isn’t any longer. Otherwise he would probably have ripped it out already.

“Stiles?” his dad’s voice echoes up the stairs. He turns his head away from his detective wall and shuffles towards the door. His eyes burn slightly. Maybe he should have gone to bed the night before but then again his thoughts would have gone haywire.

“Yes, Dad?” he calls down and smothers a yawn behind his hand. He really needs a nap. Or more coffee, whichever comes first. At the moment he is not picky.

“I’m heading into work now,” his dad stands at the end of the stairs and looks up. “Make sure that you lock the doors when you head out, alright? And always keep your phone on you.”

His dad looks as tired as Stiles feels. Two weeks have passed and they are no closer to solving this case. He knows that his father and the other officers do their best to find the missing pieces linking everything together but there is nothing. It’s worse than finding a needle in a haystack.

“I know, Dad,” Stiles nods while he makes his way down the stairs. He might as well get another coffee. Sleep is overrated anyway and who knows? Maybe he will get a brilliant idea while his brain is sleep deprived. It’s been known to happen. Not that any of those ideas ever work out the way he thinks they will but they are brilliant nonetheless.

“I’ll probably head over to Scott’s for a while. Melissa’s been stress baking again and there is only so much cake Scott can eat on his own before he needs the cavalry.” His grin is weak but so is his dad’s smile.

“Save some of that cake for me, please,” his dad groans and Stiles can’t say no. He may be strict when it comes to his father’s diet but there are some things he can let slide. Especially when there is a case with a body count.

“Anything new by now?” Stiles yawns and leans against the banister. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck in the vain hope that it will loosen the stiffness of his muscles.

“No, nothing,” his dad huffs but there is something in his demeanour that has Stiles perking up. He watches his father closely. Body turned slightly away, no direct eye contact and he even rubs his neck, too.

“There is something new,” Stiles says, sure that he is right. “You just don’t want to tell me what it is. Right?”

“What? No! Wait, how do you know that?” A small smirk crosses his face. His dad went from denial to suspicious quickly, another good sign. Now he only has to figure out whether or not he will have to snoop through his father’s files again.

“I am not going to give away all your tells, Dad,” Stiles shakes his head in mock sadness. “You know that it would defeat the purpose, right?” They share an amused huff before his dad sighs.

“We have another body,” he admits and Stiles’ stomach drops. A fourth victim then. They need to find the killer and quickly.

“No outside influences, no evidence of another person being there and another charred feather in their mouth?” It’s a risk, revealing just how much he knows but Stiles knows his dad well enough by now. Also, he did have some files at home over the last two weeks and Stiles cleaned them up when the inevitable happened. He has his logical explanation ready, though it seems that he won’t need it. His father just stares at him for a moment before heaving a deep breath.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” he shakes his head. “But you’re right, for the most part.” Stiles perks up at that. A deviation in evidence could be a lead or guide them to a lead. It happened twice in the last two years. He can still remember the wild manticore or the vampire couple that raided the city during October the year before. One little thing had been enough to lead them down the right path. Maybe this case will be similar.

“What was different this time?” Stiles asks but his dad doesn’t look like he wants to answer him. Which isn’t unusual. “Come on, dad, you know that I’ll figure it out one way or another. And hey, if you tell me now then I won’t have to show up at your office later and bribe you into telling me. In clear view of your deputies. They won’t hear it but they’ll see me coming in with a bag of treats and know that you will give in. Like you have in the past.”

“Yes, but those instances weren’t about cases. This is something completely different. Those victims aren’t a trip to Seattle with Scott or simply staying at Melissa’s during the week even though you have school.” His dad is right of course and Stiles’ shoulders droops.

“I know, Dad, sorry,” and he really is sorry. Sorry for a lot of things but mainly that he has to keep the truth from his father at all costs. Not just because it would put yet another target onto their little pack of misfits but also because his  _ Dad _ would be a target, too. He lost his mom already and it nearly shattered him. Stiles knows that losing his dad will break him completely.

“It’s alright, Stiles,” his dad puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. “I want to catch the killer just as badly as you want me to. But it’s dangerous work and I’m already going against the law by telling you anything, no matter how big it is. Also, it makes you a target and that’s something I don’t want to see happen. The whole thing with Gerard Argent was bad enough already.”

He remembers, of course he does. The nightmares have stopped but every once in awhile Stiles feels the phantom headache that kept him company for days after the incident. On some days he sees Allison look at him with guilt written all over her face even though he doesn’t really blame her. He did, in the beginning, but that was nothing more than a kneejerk reaction.

“The feather wasn’t burnt this time around but that’s all I’m going to tell you.” Stiles almost misses what his father says because he is lost in thought. He stumbles down the last step when his dad heads towards the front door.

“Not burned? As in completely whole? Do you know what bird it is from, yet? Is there something defining it? Maybe I could take a look at it and try to figure out what bird the feather is from! I could –“ A hand presses against his chest and stops Stiles from following his father out of the door.

“Stiles,” his dad rubs the bridge of his nose as he does when he feels a headache coming on. Guilt pools heavy in Stiles’ stomach at that. “We have experts coming in to do that. They will take a look at the feathers and hopefully we can figure out what bird it is and who it belongs to. That’s all I’m going to say. Please, Stiles, stay out of this, okay? I don’t want you to put yourself in danger again.”

Stiles nods and swallows the words that threaten to leave his lips. If his dad has been tired before he is downright exhausted now.

“Stay safe, Dad, okay?” is all he says when his father leaves for work. He watches the cruiser until it turns at the end of the road and disappears from view. Then he closes the door and pulls out his phone.

It rings twice before Lydia picks up.

“Any news on the case?” She cuts right down to the chase and Stiles shakes his head. He is glad that his five year plan hasn’t worked out in the long run. They are better off as friends rather than lovers.

“Yeah, another body was found, I just don’t know where yet,” he replies, taking the stairs to his room two at a time.

“The old apartment complex on the north side of Beacon Hills,” Lydia shoots back. Stiles trips over his backpack on his way over to the map. “I don’t know which building exactly but there are only two that would be suitable for leaving a body.”

“Let me guess, Jackson told you that?” Stiles takes his marker and circles the area on his map. He connects it with the string hanging from the crime scene closest to it, hoping that it would turn into the beginning of a rune or sigil or something. He hopes for something that will point them in the right direction and will allow them to find the perp.

Yet the only thing that he sees is a triangle with a line going up from the right side. It is frustrating.

“Was there anything else that you wanted?” Lydia sounds absent minded while she speaks, as if there is something distracting her. Possibly another text in archaic Latin. She likes reading those in her down time. Stiles is more interested in grimoires from the ancient Greek, they do hold a bit more humor. The sound of a window opening comes through the line and Stiles glances at his own window. Sunlight streams in.

“Yeah, Dad says that the feather they found wasn’t burned this time,” he scribbles the information down the second he reveals it to her. “Unfortunately I haven’t had the chance to take a look at it, though. It could be a bird’s feather that only holds a meaning to the killer.”

“Or it could be a feather from the killer itself because most murder cases in our town seem to have a supernatural background,” Lydia finishes the thought for him. She sounds thoughtful already and Stiles grins. It seems like she’s already working on a mental list of possible creatures.

“Do you think that there is a way for you to get a photo of the feather? Preferably sooner rather than later,” Lydia asks. Stiles steps away from his wall and frowns.

“I pestered him about it today, so it probably won’t be before tomorrow,” he says, wracking his brain for a possible distraction already. “Though if I’m really, really lucky, which I usually am, then he will bring the files home with him to pour over them when he is supposed to be resting. There will be photos of the feathers and other evidence, which I can copy. I already started copying some of the information from the last time he brought it home. But as you already know that, or should know that, I am getting the feeling that you are not just asking to be polite. That is not you, Lydia, so what is it? Did something happen?”

Lydia sighs and Stiles can almost  _ see _ her bite her in lip in contemplation. A year ago that thought alone would have caused him to pop an embarrassing boner right there. Now, though, after everything they went through together, Lydia is more of a sister to him than a crush. 

“I … found a feather on my windowsill right now,” Lydia says hesitantly. “It’s a white weather and it looks like nothing I have seen before. I know that birds lose feathers every now and then, so don’t even think about saying something like that.” Stiles grins at that. She knows him well. He steps over to his desk and grabs a random pen.

“My concern doesn’t just come for the unknown feather,” she continues. “If you haven’t noticed yet, it’s rather windy outside and this feather was jammed between the window sill and the frame. Do you know of a bird with that kind of strength? I don’t. Also, the texture of this weather seems … off, somehow. Like it was covered in something that created a patina of some kind. Anyway, I put the feather into an evidence bag to keep it from being destroyed.” 

Stiles’ fingers fly across the paper. He notes down what Lydia tells him about the color of the feather, it’s textures and the feeling of the patina. 

“Do you know whether or not Melissa was able to get some tissue sample already?” Lydia asks next. 

“Scott hasn’t called me yet, so, no, I don’t think she’s got the samples,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “I just wish we had someone else we could ask for this kind of information.” 

“You don’t trust Dr. Deaton? He is a druid,” Lydia doesn’t sound surprised. She rarely does. 

“Yes, he is a druid and I don’t trust him any further than I could throw him,” Stiles snorts mirthlessly when she just huffs at him. “I mean, come on. He never tells us everything we need to know. That info we usually get from either Derek or Argent. He makes plans behind our backs and tries to rope Scott in for those. Also, Scott is way too trusting to be around him alone. I love Scott. He’s my brother but he is too trusting. The world has changed too much for that.”

“True,” Stiles can see her nod. “Unfortunately we don’t have another option besides trying to learn as much as we can. Until we know whatever he knows, we will have to work with him. Otherwise our lovely little town will end up in even worse trouble. And I quite like it here.”

“If it survives long enough to get into more trouble,” Stiles sighs while Lydia just hums in agreement. “Right, I think we have everything for now. We’ll need another pack meeting as soon as I got the evidence pictures from dad. For now, though, I have to go and hunt down some books in the library. Keep the feather safe and keep your eyes open, Lyds.”

“Of course I will, Stiles,” Lydia says with only mild annoyance. Yet they both know that she mainly plays the part of annoyed Queen Bee. In truth she cares a lot more than she lets on.

“See you later, then.” Stiles waits for her quick ‘bye’ before he ends the call. He looks back at the wall covered in every hint they managed to get by now. It is less than he would like but it’s a start and they will figure out who or what keeps killing off their inhabitants.   
  


*~*~*

“That was not supposed to happen!” Azza huffs angrily. She sat in the tree across from the Banshee’s room and watched as she talks on the phone. Then the girl walked over to the window and saw the feather. It was jammed in tightly just like she prefers it. But instead of being scared the girl just looked wary. Her eyes glanced around but she didn’t notice Azza. 

It was the moment Azza had anticipated. Maybe inside the girl would panic and try to ward herself. Instead she simply continued to talk on the phone and put her feather into a small plastic bag. At least the others had thrown them away after they couldn’t find anything about it. But this girl looks at the feather like she wants to read all it’s secrets. 

Something tells Azza that she may have the ability to do so. It is a little disconcerting but nothing she doesn’t know how to deal with. There have been a few individuals in her long life who figured out who and what she was. Neither of them survived long enough to tell someone else, though. 

Azza shifts a little on her branch; her thighs start to slowly fall asleep. She definitely had better perches. It creaks, loudly, and the Banshee must have heard it because she turns around sharply to look back out of the window. She doesn’t look scared, more annoyed. 

Her feet hit the ground with a soft ‘thud’ moments before the window opens once again. She ducks back into the deeper shadow and watches as the girl leans out into the night. It would be so easy to pick her off now. She could be up at the windowsill in a heartbeat and take what she wants. It just wouldn’t be fun to do it that way. And Azza likes having her fun. 

“Until later, missy. I still have some deliveries to make tonight,” she smiles and leaves silently, completely unaware that something important got stuck up in her previous seat.   
  


*~*~*

“What are you doing here?” Stiles points at Derek, who leans casually against the hood of his Jeep. He turns his head and stares at Lydia. “What is he doing here?” His voice doesn’t go as flat as he wants it to be but his agitation is too strong to be hidden. He feels a little overrun.

“I called him because it’s better to have someone with werewolf strength on our side and Derek volunteered,” Lydia adjusts the strap of her bag and raises her eyebrow. “We have no idea who or what it is that keeps killing in our town. And while I may be able to protect myself I would also give myself away. As for you,” she pokes him in the chest with a sharp nail, “you manage to stumble into danger no matter where you go or what you do. Do you really want me to explain to your dad that you were killed getting samples from dead bodies? Bodies, that you shouldn’t even be thinking about? ” 

“But why  _ Derek _ ? Why the King of Sourwolves himself?”, he whines and turns around to point his finger at the werewolf. “Couldn’t you have send Boyd instead? I like Boyd! He doesn’t try to brain me with a piece of Roscoe nor does he offer random, unhelpful comments! He’s big and silent and only judges you with his eyes.” Stiles stops for a second when Derek bares his teeth at him. He doesn’t growl but it’s a near thing.

“Ah, there are the bunny teeth! I was wondering when they would show up today.” Clearly his brain to mouth filter has disengaged for the day. He barely manages to take his finger away before Derek bites it. Even though, he feels the distinct rush of air when sharp canines audibly click together mere millimeters away from his skin. Stiles swallows drily when their eyes meet. Despite glowing with the usual Alpha-red they hold no anger or malice. Instead there is a playful glint to them that has Stiles almost grinning. It is so completely inappropriate for their current situation that it turns his irritation into an urge to giggle. 

“No, bad wolf,” he huffs and taps Derek’s nose with his previously curled up finger. “No biting or there will be no treat for you after everything is over. I know, I’m tasty but still. I’d rather not turn furry, thank you very much.”

They stare at each other; Stiles’ finger still wagging in front of Derek’s face. The red slowly bleeds from Derek’s eyes until they are back to their normal, warm hazel. 

“Boys,” Lydia sighs. “I’d love to give you the time to pine over each other but there are tissue samples waiting for us at the hospital and I am not sure that Melissa will be able to hide them forever. I suggest that you both deal with your lust  _ after _ this whole thing is over.” 

“We are not -”

“There is no-” 

Lydia rolls her eyes and shakes her head when both of them splutter. Still, Stiles feels his cheeks heat slightly and even Derek’s ears hold a tiny blush. They practically jump away from each other. It’s only then that Stiles notices just  _ how close _ they had been standing. He shivers but doesn’t comment on it for once because Lydia is right. They have something important to do and not much time for it. 

“Right, let’s get going then!” Stiles unlocks Roscoe and climbs into the driver seat. Derek takes up the passenger seat while Lydia makes herself comfortable in the back. 

“Melissa waits for us at one of the back entrances of the hospital,” Stiles explains once they are out of the driveway. “She didn’t specify which one exactly, which is understandable. So, Derek, I need you to try and catch her scent.”

“And why would I do that? Seeing as you don’t even want me here?” Derek asks without any heat behind it. Stiles snorts and smirks.

“Lydia has a point, no matter what I think or how I feel about it. If this turns ugly, we don’t have the means to truly defend or protect ourselves,” he admits and it’s not as difficult as it once had been. Ever since they reached their truce, things became less tense even if the rivalry never truly vanished. 

“So you want me to play bodyguard,” Derek muses, head tilted towards him.

“Are you saying that this body doesn’t deserve guarding?” Stiles laughs, one hand flailing up and down his body. Heat rises into his cheeks when Derek’s eyes follow his motion albeit much slower. Additionally he hums contemplatively until Lydia clears her throat behind them. 

Derek grins and turns to look out of the window while Stiles focuses back on the road. They ride in silence for a little while and it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it would have about two years ago. In the back, Lydia types away on her phone while occasionally looking up to catch his gaze in the rearview mirror. Knowing her, she is reading through various articles about winged creatures. 

“Have you ever wondered why it always seems to get stormy or rainy or generally gloomy whenever something happens in Beacon Hills?” Stiles wonders aloud. Not that it  _ always _ gets dark but 8 times out of 10 is a rather telling number. 

Lydia hums in contemplation but doesn’t answer him. Derek on the other hand leans his head on his hand and looks back at him. He frowns. Thankfully it’s not the frown that says “What are you talking about now, Stiles?”. Rather it seems like he is giving the sentence a lot of thought. 

Stiles glances over when they stop at a red light. His heartbeat stutters for a moment, when a cloud moves and Derek’s profile is backlit from the sun. He quickly brings his eyes back to the front, knowing that at least the werewolf has heard his heart skip. Seconds later Stiles’ practically  _ feels _ Derek’s gaze on him. He swallows and fiddles with the radio until some rock song starts playing.

His fingers drum along to the beat until they hit yet another red light. The sky is clear and a gentle breeze blows leaves over the pavement. It isn’t an unusual occurrence given that it is early fall. Still, Stiles feels strange. A little as if this good weather isn’t meant to be given that they have four dead bodies. 

“Maybe it had something to do with the Nemeton.” Derek’s voice pulls Stiles’ attention away from a particular pretty leaf clinging to the wipers of the car before them. He raises an eyebrow in question and Derek rolls his eyes. 

“The weather, Stiles,” he huffs, only a little exasperated. Now it is Stiles who hums in contemplation. The Nemeton certainly seems like a plausible explanation. It still pulses with dark energy and creatures of all planes flock around it. 

“It would make sense,” Lydia pipes up from the backseat. “Unfortunately, none of the bodies were found anywhere near the Nemeton.” 

“They also weren’t placed in any kind of reference to it,” Stiles adds. He pulls his phone free of his pocket and hands it over to Derek. “If we’re working together, we might as well share what information we have. I made a photo of the map and where each body was found. I hoped that it would give us another clue. Like you sometimes see on TV. Five bodies found in five locations. When all points are connected then a pentagram can be seen on the map. And right  _ smack _ ,” he hits his steering wheel for emphasis, “in the middle there is either a ritual place. Or a ruin that once belonged to a satanic cult or something entirely different.”

“You do know that this is not a TV show, Stiles,” Lydia doesn’t even try to make it sound like a questions. “But the general idea is a good one. Some of the more obscure demons require quite a huge summoning circle and big sacrifices. So far none of them have anything to do with wings or feathers. Most of them rely on living beings such as animals or plants.”

Stiles shudders when his mind comes up with walking trees that have claws for branches and screaming flowers with sharp teeth. Though the monsters alone aren’t all that scary to him. It’s the resulting chaos and death that makes cold sweat break out on his skin. Nobody truly suspects the fauna to come hunting for them. Animals, sure, but that little potted plant your mom gave you for your birthday? No chance.

“It could be a phoenix,” Derek says. His words pull Stiles away from the ever growing darkness and fear. A phoenix sounds plausible, although he hasn’t heard of white winged ones before.

“It sounds plausible but it’s unlikely. The color range for phoenix feathers always has a shimmer of red, orange or even green in them, depending on where they originate from. They are also rather warm to the touch and burn quickly after the phoenix’s energy leaves their immediate range. That range depends on the age of the phoenix; the younger they are the smaller their area of effect. While an older phoenix is able to have a whole city as its area of effect, Beacon Hills has too much darkness in it to be attractive as a nesting area. Also, the feather is neither warm nor has it burned, yet,” Lydia explains.

“Shape-shifters are also out of the question,” Stiles chimes in. He steers Roscoe left into the small parking lot that sits across the hospital. “While their feathers can be white they also always resemble their animal ones. And this feather doesn’t look like it’s from an animal. It is too heavy, too.”

“That’s true,” Lydia accepts his input with an elegant tilt of her head. “I already referenced harpies, but their feathers are longer and not as broad as these. Lamassu are also out of the question, as they tend to maul their victims to the point that there is not enough left to be identified.” 

Derek scratches the back of his head and Stiles has to tear his gaze away from the way his muscles bunch up. He barely avoids hitting another car but brushes it off with a shrug when Lydia asks him about it. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to think about Derek. He likes thinking about Derek as much as every person with two eyes should be thinking about him. Well, maybe a little more than necessary. Because Derek is so much more than handsome. He is kind, protective, generous and funny. If only it wasn’t for his unhealthy need to jump into danger headfirst. 

“- don’t you agree, Stiles?” Stiles’ head swivels sideways and he stares at Derek with wide eyes, who merely raises his eyebrows in question.

“Uhm, I don’t … know?” he stutters and feels that traitorous heat creep up his cheeks. Behind him Lydia sighs and Stiles can  _ feel _ her eyes roll. He shrugs sheepishly.

“Sorry, got a little distracted. What were you guys talking about?” He glances into the rearview mirror and Lydia smiles at him. He doesn’t like the smile. He doesn’t like it at all. 

“I’ve been thinking that it could have been a griffin,” Derek repeats but falls quiet when Stiles shakes his head. 

“It’s a good idea but the bodies don’t fit the way griffins hunt,” he explains and slowly guides Roscoe into an empty spot right next to Melissa’s car. Derek nods slowly, his shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, I figured but it could have been,” he huffs and Stiles understands. It’s their town and they’re responsible for the people living in Beacon Hills. Supernatural or not. 

“And if we only had one body I would have given it another thought, because the hunt could have been interrupted or they became distracted,” Stiles continues after they climbed out of the car. “Unfortunately, though, we have four bodies and none of them showed any signs of having been mauled or even attacked.”

“Why can’t we have at least a few weeks of calm between problems?” Derek shakes his head and Stiles pats his arm sympathetically. 

“It’s Beacon Hills, Der,” he offers. It’s not much but somehow it seems to be enough because Derek smiles briefly. 

“Enough with the flirting boys,” Lydia pipes up from the front. “Melissa is waiting for us. Coming?”

*~*~*

“So, what do we have?” Stiles asks, holding his arms out with his palms upwards. He is tired, annoyed and Dr Deaton’s neutral face makes his skin crawl something awful. There is no telling what the man thinks or what he knows. He is supposed to help them protect Beacon Hills but sometimes Stiles wonders if that is truly his goal. So far the man has told or taught them barely enough to survive.

“The victims  _ were _ supernatural creatures,” Dr Deaton says, after what feels like an eternity. Stiles barely manages to keep his eyes under control. Maybe he should ask the man whether or not he took some theater classes. He has the dramatic pause down to an artform.

“Can you tell us what they were? That might give us a direction in which we have to turn our investigations. We don’t need another body. Keeping the police out of the loops is difficult enough as it is,” Derek asks and shifts his weight from one leg to the other. Stiles can’t be sure but he thinks that even the Sourwolf is slowly losing his patience. 

"Patience, Derek," Dr Deaton replies with the barest hint of irritation in his voice. It gives Stiles a tiny bit of grim satisfaction. "The victims have no connection to each other beyond being of the supernatural kind and being able to put on a human like appearance. Now, I don't know if they knew each other while they were alive but that has little to do with what they are." 

Deaton falls quiet while he pulls out the different samples and Stiles takes the time to sneak a glance at Lydia. Their gazes lock and he fights down a snort. She is as annoyed as he is though she manages to keep her expression void of it. He has always wondered how she does that. 

"The first victim was a Kitsune," Deaton finally explains and frowns when Stiles immediately interrupts him again.

"One of Kira's family?" He hopes that it isn't the case. A second later he scolds himself. If the first victim had been from Kira's clan then they would have told the police and in turn Stiles would know it, too. Either because she would have called him or because his father would have told him. 

"No, Stiles, the victim wasn't a part of any clan," Deaton confirms his thoughts. "The other victims were a medusa, a siren and the last one a rather old vampire. I can’t say anything to the order of the victims, though." 

"Interesting," Lydia says slowly. Her brain is already going a mile a minute. Stiles can see that in the way her gaze grows a little distant. "Neither of them lose their human shape after death, though the vampire should have been obvious due to its teeth, shouldn't it? Their teeth don’t retract when they die. In fact a vampire has to concentrate on keeping them hidden from humans. Stiles, isn't there anything about teeth in the files?" 

"I didn't get around to that part yet, unfortunately," Stiles sighs and stares back at the rest of the samples. "He keeps a rather close eye on the files. Four bodies in the span of a few days has the whole sheriff department up on their feet and their hands on their guns. Not literally, of course but you get what I mean.” 

“Is there a possibility to get to a look at the files when someone distracts your father?” Derek pipes up from his side. Stiles turns to look at the man and smirks a little.

“You mean like the first time we tried that tactic?” he asks a little sarcastically. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Derek shrugs and smirks back at him. It doesn’t reach his eyes, though, which reminds Stiles of the grim situation they are in. He sighs and rubs a hand across his face. His eyes burn a little and he thinks about what books he still has to read through. 

“I’ll think of something,” he finally says. “Right, now that we know what the victims were - any idea on how they died? I mean, we killed a bunch of vampires already and I distinctly remember that they usually rot away rather quickly, depending on how old they are. What is different about this one?” 

Lydia nods quickly in agreement. The fact that the vampire's’ body remained preserved is concerning. There is no telling whether or not they will rise up again. So far, though Melissa hasn’t said anything about strange noises coming from the morgue. Stiles decides to take that as a good sign. 

“There is nothing I can discern right at the moment,” Deaton says and for the first time that day he looks something other than calmly neutral. It feels a little refreshing to see the druid show concern and even worry. “The samples were enough to determine the origin but there are only so many tests I can do without having the whole body at my disposal. Unless you can get me the body of one of the victims there is very little I can tell you about their demise.” 

“Right, there is no way we can steal a body from the morgue. Not after the last time,” Stiles nods with a wince. It hadn’t been pretty. “At least we know now that our current killer targets mainly supernatural creatures. It’s not ideal but at least it’s something.” 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Deaton asks and looks at each one of them. For a moment Stiles considers telling him about the feather in Lydia’s bag but throws that thought out of the window rather quickly. He isn’t sure how or even if Deaton could help them with it.

“Not at the moment,” Lydia takes her bag and walks over to the door. “We’ll let you know if we find something else. Thank you for helping, Dr Deaton.” She smiles at him and leaves the room. Derek nods at the vet and follows her. Stiles remains behind for a moment longer.

“Is there anything else, Mr Stilinski?” Deaton asks while he puts away the samples and tools he used. Stiles bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. 

“No,” he finally says. “I’ll leave you to your work then. Thank you for your help.” Deaton nods and turns around to put something into the sink. Stiles nods to himself and leaves the examination room. 

Lydia and Derek wait for him at the front desk. They leave the building together in silence. The walls of the Beacon Hills buildings have ears sometimes and neither of them want to risk being overheard by anyone. Although people tended to overhear most things that concern them. 

“Pack meeting?” Stiles asks quietly when they reach the edge of the parking spot. Roscoe is the only car sitting there though the walkway in front of the clinic is busy with people. They rush past the three of them without looking at them. Their eyes are either glued to their phones or looking straight forward to avoid the people not looking. 

“Yes, we need to catch the others up on what’s going on,” Lydia agrees. “I texted Jackson and Ally already. Stiles, you call Scott, and Derek, you need to make sure that your pack is at your loft tonight at seven.” 

“Why my place?” Derek asks even though he already has to know the answer. Stiles just snorts slightly. 

“Because you have the room to fit all of us, Sourwolf,” he says and lays his hand on Derek’s shoulder. He can feel the warmth through the shirt and it makes him shiver. Still he keeps his hand where it is and refuses to look away. His heart starts beating faster and warmth suffuses his cheeks. 

Derek ducks his head and for a moment it looks like he will shy away. Stiles readies himself for rejection but it doesn’t come. Instead he feels a large, warm hand on his back. The touch is gentle and steadying. A second later he sees the small smile on Derek’s lips.

“Boys!” Lydia shakes her head and pulls Roscoe’s keys from Stiles’ pockets. Stiles squawks and stumbles away from her grip. The back of his heel catches on a rock and the world tilts. It’s only Derek’s quick reaction that keeps him from braining himself on the pavement. The air leaves his lungs in a rush and his heartbeat doubles once again. 

Derek’s eyes are wide and slightly surprised. Both of his hands hold Stiles’ arms without hurting him. 

“Are you boys finished now?” Lydia’s voice breaks the tension and Derek’s almost drops him. His cheeks heat up while Derek ducks his head. If this continues as it does, Stiles will stay red-faced.

“We’re coming,” he wheezes once he is upright again. Derek stays quiet beside him but their hands still touch.

*~*~*

Having both packs in one room over a prolonged period of time is not always the best idea. 

Stiles groans quietly and rubs his aching temples. Listening to Erica and Jackson bicker back and forth usually makes him laugh hard enough to leave him gasping. Tonight, though, it grates on his nerves and prickles behind his eyes. Isaac’s smartass comments don’t help either. 

Suddenly the pressure behind his eyes recedes and the pain bleeds away slowly. Stiles opens his eyes and finds Derek sitting beside him, one hand cautiously placed on his neck. He hasn’t noticed him getting close but he is thankful for it anyway. 

“Thanks, dude,” he croaks weakly. Derek grumbles a little and takes his hand away. Stiles immediately misses the warm weight on his neck. He doesn’t protest, though, and is surprised when Derek remains within touching distance. 

“Don’t mention it. And don’t call me dude.”, Derek huffs with a small smile. They look at each other for a few more moments before Stiles sighs and gets up. He has a lot of explaining to do and delaying it will only end in an even worse headache. 

“Alright, pups, time to listen up,” he says when he steps in front of both packs. All eyes settle on him and Stiles looks at everyone before he turns around to his chart. He uncovers the map he hefted to it and points at each crime scene. “We have four dead bodies, found in these locations. All four were supernatural inhabitants of Beacon Hills; a medusa, a kitsune, a siren and a vampire.” 

“A vigilante, maybe? Someone who makes our work easier?” Erica interrupts. She leans against Boyd and pokes Isaac’s thigh with her heels until he snaps at her.

“Neither of the victims seem to have a back record,” Lydia says from her perch beside Jackson. “Both the medusa and the siren worked for the community and were well-loved by customers and neighbours. The vampire had a job as a night guard and was very reliable, according to his co-workers. Never missed a shift and often took over other peoples’ shifts so they could be with their families.” 

A rumble of surprise and wonder goes through the room. Stiles understands it. Most of the supernaturals they meet don’t get tangled up with the human side of Beacon Hills. Instead they try to take over the reign of the Nemeton for power or territory. Sometimes both. 

“What about the kitsune? I called Kira and asked her about it,” Allison asks. “She couldn’t tell me anything about it and neither could her mom.” Stiles nods at her words and turns to his notes again. 

“From what we could gather, through my dad’s notes and listening around carefully, he was new to the area and had only just moved here,” he replies absentmindedly. His eyes fly across his notes to see if he has anything more on him. Unfortunately the information on the newcomer is as thin as Mrs. Swenson’s hair. 

“Anyway, none of these victims have anything in common except for one thing,” Lydia takes over while Stiles sorts through a few more notes and pictures. He tries to find the pictures of the feathers he managed to copy that afternoon. It had been risky but they needed them. 

“All of the victims were found with a burned feather on their bodies,” Lydia looks at him just when he finds the pictures. He hands them out while she continues. “The feather on the latest victim wasn’t burned, though, it was fully intact. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit any bird and so far we haven’t been able to match it up to anything else either. Supernatural or otherwise.” 

Stiles watches the pack and it warms his heart that while they still squabble, they work together when it counts. It had taken them long enough to get there.

“Do you have a picture of the whole feather? Dad and I could look through our books for information,” Allison offers, her face serious. 

“I have something even better than a photo,” Lydia picks up her bag and pulls the little plastic bag out of it. The feather inside it is beautiful. It’s white, long, slim and elegantly curved with an ivory shimmer at the edges. The photo of the unburned feather doesn’t do it any justice but then again a picture rarely captures the whole magic of its focus.

Another rumble wanders through the packs and they crowd closer to get a better look. Stiles steps closer, too, and leans in to see it clearer. Even through the plastic he can see the delicateness. He wonders how something so delicate could leave more behind than just ash. 

The pack takes turns holding the little bag to get a closer look at the feather. Erica puts it up and down with a little wrinkle around her nose. She huffs and hands it over to Isaac who takes it gingerly. Scott crowds closer to him and looks a little like a puppy when he tilts his head.

“Oh, I got one of those, too!” he yells so sudden that Isaac jumps and almost drops the feather. The other wolves around him shrink back and rub their ears while they glare at him. He ducks his head with a sheepish grin  and Stiles just shakes his head with a smile. Then Scott’s words reach his brain and he stares at his best friend. 

“You what?” he asks and quickly pushes his way towards Scott who digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out a slightly battered but still gorgeous feather. It looks the same as the one in Lydia’s plastic bag. They hold them next to each other and they are the virtually identicalsame, just in two different states of being - one whole and one battered. 

“How did you get that one?” Derek asks and Stiles jumps slightly. He hadn’t noticed him stepping closer. Now they stand close enough together that he can once again feel the heat radiating off of Derek’s body. It seems a little like he wants to offer him some support without being obvious about it. 

“Someone ran into me, today, while I waited for mom to finish an errand,” Scott explains. “It was a girl. She must have been distracted by something because she didn’t even turn around to apologize. I called after her but she didn’t stop. And when I took out my phone to call mom I found the feather in my pocket.”

Stiles stares at his best friend. How could he forget something like that? For a second he is tempted to ask him if he visited Allison before he came over.

“You didn’t feel anything from her? No weird energy? No darkness, dread or fear-inducing? Nothing at all?” Lydia asks completely focused on Scott, who sinks back into his seat under her stare. “Can you remember what she wore? Haircolour? Piercings? Tattoos? Scent? Anything that may help us identify her.” The more she asks the deeper Scott slides down until he sits on the floor. 

“I..,” Stiles takes a step back to get a better look at his best friend; his shoulder brushes against Derek’s chest. A warm hand rests on his lower back while Scott clears his throat and climbs back onto the seat. He leans forward and frowns. Stiles knows that face. Scott is trying to remember as well as he can. It may take him a moment to sort through his thoughts but he usually gets there.

“The girl was on the smaller side, very slender; probably not taller than my shoulder. She wore a plain black hoodie and blue jeans,” his brow furrows when he tries to recall everything. “Brown hair, in a ponytail and large sunglasses, so I couldn’t see her eyes. She didn’t have a bag with her.” 

“And her scent?” Boyd asks, his voice rumbling across the room. “Did you catch her scent? Could you find it again, so we can track her?” 

Scott frowns again. He scratches the back of his head and shakes his head.

“I don’t remember any kind of scent on her,” he says. “Now that you mention it, she could have walked right passed me, instead of running into me. There were no people around . She had a lot of room to evade me.” Scott looks up and his eyes find Stiles’. “She had no scent. None and she probably ran into me on purpose.” 

“That’s impossible! Everything has a scent,” Jackson scoffs only to get a slap on the back of his head. “Hey!”

“It is not impossible, Jackson,” Lydia huffs. “Some species have managed to cover their scent to the point that they may appear scentless. Either for protection or hunting purposes. But it does help us narrow down the list of suspects. Stiles? Can you write that down? We need to compare the notes with what we already have!”

“Already on it, Lyds,” Stiles answers, his fingers nimbly fumbling for his pen. He furiously scribbles every bit of information down. “We won’t be able to go by the looks but the scent thing is a good indicator. Along with the feather we may figure out what creature haunts us this time.  _ Before _ Jackson’s dad calls the FBI.” 

Scott’s growl makes him grin as much as Jackson’s indignated ‘Hey’.

*~*~*

“Oh, no, no, no! Where is it?” Azza looks around frantically. The apartment she uses as her base belonged to her first victim. It is not all that big, in fact the whole apartment could have fit into the living-room of her home in New York. It is tidy, though. Kitchen, living-room, bedroom, bathroom and hallway - and in neither of these rooms she could find it.

“No, no, no,” she pulls on her hair and sits down on the coffee table. “I must have lost it somewhere. But where?” Azza looks around the room once again and huffs. She is not going to find it in the mess she created in her first panicked rampage. Overturned chairs, books flung across the room and cupboards standing open. She even pulled the cushions from the sofa and pulled the mattress from the bed. 

Nothing.

“Do I really have to go out again?” Azza leans back until she lies across the coffee table and her head hangs from the edge. She doesn’t want to head out once again. Not when that pack is constantly running or driving through the streets. They are not supposed to go out looking for her. They are supposed to huddle together and get paranoid. It had worked in New York. At least for a while until they noticed her sticking around to watch. 

“Also, why aren’t the two Alphas fighting for their territory?” Azza asks the upside down shoe that sits before her eyes. “ It’s not normal! Werewolves are territorial by nature and don’t accept another Alpha.” She turns over and rests on her stomach. 

“Maybe I lost it when I followed that boy,” she muses in annoyance. “Or, maybe back at that house?” Azza stops moving completely when the second thought hits her. 

She visited the energy-filled house again, after placing her feather. It had been empty when she got there but she couldn’t enter. Something protected the doors and windows from her touch. Yet she found no runes carved into the wood. Or other magical charms that people used to keep her out. Most of those rituals and spells have been lost to time these days but every once in a while she stumbles over one of them. Though that usually happens in Europe and Asia. 

“Something is up with that house,” she murmurs while her sharp fingernails leave scratch marks on the floor. “But what? The energy feels familiar and at the same time it doesn’t. It’s not making any sense.” 

Azza groans in frustration and gets off the table. Who would have thought that a little town like this would put her into such a mess! It sounded so promising, too promising, if she is honest with herself. But now she lost her amulet  _ and _ she has to possibly deal with another angel. Life could be unfair sometimes.

She only wants to get more points than the others. She needs them to get into the inner circle. Is that too much to ask? 

The door to the small bathroom slams shut behind her but Azza doesn’t care. Even without her amulet she can put up a fairly secure protection ring. She needs a shower now.  
  


*~*~*

Stiles jumps when his window opens behind him. He whirls around and throws his pen at Derek’s face. Because who else jumps into his room at - he glances at the clock - 3:14 am. 

“Goddamnit, Derek!” he wheezes and shakes his head. Derek has the grace to look a little sheepish before his expression turns serious again. “You really need to learn how to use a door. I don’t know how long my heart will take you appearing in my room like that. I lost a decade of my life already!” 

“Finished?” Derek asks and Stiles takes a couple of deep breaths before he nods his head. 

“Yeah, I’m done for now,” he says. Two strides bring him over to his desk chair and he drops into it. “So, what can I help you with tonight, Sourwolf?” The joke he wants to make falls flat, though, when Derek seats himself on the bed and somehow looks older than he is. Tiredness radiates from him like heat from a fire and Stiles finds himself yawning. His jaw cracks twice and he winces. 

“Okay, when was the last time you’ve been sleeping?” he asks when Derek doesn’t make any move to talk to him. Instead he simply sits there and stares at the map much like Stiles has done for the last four hours. Every once in a while his eyes bleed red. They stay like that for another five minutes and Stiles feels his eyes droop slightly. The silence between them is nice and the even, steady breathing coming from his bed makes him sleepy. 

“Did something happen?” he finally croaks when his eyes threaten to close for good. “You usually only show up here when something happened or is about to happen.” 

Derek sighs and looks at him. He shakes his head, runs a hand over his face and yawns, too. It is obvious that he just wants to lay back and sleep. Stiles has seen that posture on him way too often to be surprised.

“Nothing has happened yet,” Derek finally replies. “But we need to be careful with this unknown threat. So, I called Scott before coming here. We decided to pair up for the next few days so that nobody can be overwhelmed.” 

Stiles’ brain stutters to a hold and he stares at the wolf in disbelief. Derek, king of the Sourwolves and Scott, his best friend and most pacifist wolf he knows, have talked with each other and actually agreed on something. 

“How much yelling was involved?” he asks still not quite convinced that this isn’t just some elaborate dream his mind has cooked up while he fell asleep in front of the map. Maybe he should pinch himself to see if he can wake up?

“No yelling, actually,” Derek grins weakly. “I only called him to talk about patrols and perimeter checks. He came up with the buddy system and for once he is right. We still don’t know what killed the victims and frankly, I don’t want to lose my family again.” 

“Right,” Stiles nods, swallowing what sarcastic reply had been sitting at the tip of his tongue, “buddy system it is. Good idea actually. I’m not fond of it but it’s a good idea. Question is, though, where do you sleep? I don’t think that my dad will appreciate it if we both sleep in my bed and the guest room is filled with boxes of unidentified origin. So it’s out of the question.” 

Derek ducks his head and shrugs. It’s a gesture that says nothing and everything all at once. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Right, that’s not going to happen,” he groans, lifts himself out of his desk chair and walks over to Derek. “You get that thought of self-sacrificing right out of your head, Sufferwolf. If we do this buddy system thing, then we will work together. Which means, I’m going to get some coffee while you make yourself comfortable. Dad will be home in,” he glances at his clock and blinks, “a little more than four hours. You have until then to get some shut-eye.” 

“And what about you?” Derek raises his eyebrows but slowly crawls up on the bed. Stiles shakes his head with a small smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Sourwolf,” he shakes his head. The fact that Derek doesn’t try to argue about sleeping says more than he might think. Especially about the trust they have managed to build up over time. “I can take care of myself for a few hours and I’ve pulled more than one all-nighter over the last few years.” 

“It’s still not healthy and don’t call me Sourwolf,” the words are slurred and muffled by the pillows. Stiles doesn’t answer and slowly makes his way down into the kitchen. He turns the light on and sighs. A pile of dirty dishes sits next to the sink and there seems to be some leftover coffee in the pot. 

Stiles empties the pot and rinses it thoroughly. He prepares the coffee maker and loads the dishwasher while it runs. Once the dishes are taken care of he turns off the main light of the kitchen again and only leaves the small lamp by the stove turned on. It is enough to see the coffeemaker and still be able to see out of the windows. At least to some extent. 

He wanders in direction of the windows and pretends to clean up a few little things that allow him a good glance outside while not needing a lot of light. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one wants to look at it, there is nothing suspicious going on outside. 

The coffeemaker gurgles its last drops into the pot and Stiles fills a cup for himself. He contemplates the black liquid for a moment longer before he decides to fill a Thermos bottle with the rest of the coffee. Derek might want one, too, when he wakes up. 

Taking one last look around the kitchen and surreptitiously out of the window, Stiles turns to shut off the light. He still doesn’t see anything. Maybe his room will have a better view.   
  


*~*~*

Azza stares at the house once again. She can’t get the energy out of her head and curiosity has always been her biggest problem. Rumours catch her interest and when they don’t turn out to be true she is disappointed. Those that  _ are _ true, though, they give her life. She thrives on secrets. Especially when they allow her a great harvest. 

So far the rumours about Beacon Hills have proven their truth. Two Alphas, a Banshee and Hunters that work with packs. What she still hasn’t been able to figure out is this house and its energy. The familiarity is disturbing and she wants to know why that is.

For now she can only watch as the man of the house come home in a police car. A few minutes before he arrived the second Alpha of Beacon Hills climbed out of the boy’s room and hid on the roof. She had to hide a little further away because the wolf kept glancing around. She knows that he can’t smell her but he could hear her as long as she’s still without her amulet. It hadn’t been on the road she took to deliver her feather so she has to check the Banshee’s house again. Hopefully that girl hasn’t found it yet. She seemed to be rather clever and perceptive.

That boy, though, he doesn’t seem to be special and yet he has to be. Both Alphas come to him. The Banshee calls him fairly often and even the Huntress seems to be friends with him. The rest of the packs aren’t that interesting to her. Azza just wants the brightest souls. They sell the best. 

“Maybe I can use him,” she wonders very, very quietly, her eyes never leaving the wolf on the roof. He is attentive and wary. The boy seems to be important so maybe she can use him as bait. Once the wolf leaves that is. If he doesn’t leave, though, she will have to distract him somehow. And with the man in the house it might be even harder to do. 

For now she is stuck waiting and wondering who of the two of them holds that energy.   
  


*~*~*

“Stiles? Are you awake?” His door opens and Stiles looks up from where he’s reading a wikipedia entry about sea urchins. “Oh, I didn’t expect you to actually _ be _ awake when I come home.” His dad looks exhausted and Stiles’ heart feels as if someone squeezed it tightly.

“I couldn’t sleep anymore,” he answers with a smile. “But you look like you will fall over if you don’t get horizontal soon.” His dad gives him a tired nod. 

“I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll head to bed,” he hesitates and Stiles can see him look at the calendar on his desk.

“It’s Sunday, Dad,” Stiles says gently. “I’ll probably head over to Scott’s for a few hours or so. I took some of Melissa’s casserole out of the freezer and put it into the oven to thaw . If I’m not home before you wake, you only have to heat it up.” He hopes that his dad sleeps longer than the few hours he needs at Scott’s. Or at the rest of the pack’s homes. The trip is merely a run to compare notes as they want to do a perimeter check that day. 

“Alright, kiddo,” his dad nods. “I’ll see you tonight then. Love you, kid” “Love you, too, dad.” They share another look and then his father closes the door. He hears him shuffled towards the bathroom and few minutes later the shower turns on.

“Okay, Sourwolf, you can come back in now,” Stiles says and looks over when Derek climbs back into the room. He still looks tired but that is to be expected. They are both ready for a nap. Which will have to wait for a while. He yawns widely and winces when his jaw cracks.

“We need to get going as soon as my dad hits the hay. That may take about an hour or so,” he says and Derek nods. He sits back down on the bed. It looks inviting and Stiles sighs. “I’m going to nap for that hour. Can you keep an ear on my dad?” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Derek says quietly and makes a little more room on the bed so Stiles can fall facedown on it. “I’ll wake you when he’s in bed.” 

Stiles nods into the pillow and closes his eyes. He isn’t sure whether it’s a figment of his dream already or if it is real, but he feels a gentle, warm hand on the back of his calf. Then everything goes dark.

“Stiles, wake up,” Derek’s voice is quiet in his ear. Stiles struggles through the fog that settled over his mind and blinks his eyes open. Derek looks worried, he tilts his head back towards the window. “I need to check something. I heard something in the forest outside. Already called Scott and Allison, they’ll be here in about ten minutes. Keep your windows and doors locked. Also-” 

“I know, I know,” Stiles holds up his hand and puts it across Derek’s mouth. The scruffy beard scraps over his palm and sends a shiver down his spine. Unfortunately he is not awake enough to appreciate it properly. “I’ll put mountain ash on the window as soon as you are out. Now go, Worrywolf.” 

Is it his imagination or did Derek really press a quick kiss onto his palm? Stiles looks at his hand when Derek jumps out of his window. Has he really done that right now? 

“The window, Stiles.” He jumps slightly and then flails out of bed just in time to see Derek let go of the window sill. Derek rushes across the yard and vanishes beneath the trees. It’s then that he grabs the small jar of mountain ash and slowly creates a line that separates the outside worlds from his room. There is no guarantee that what-, or whoever, killed the victims will be repelled by it, though. Still, it is better to just try it. 

Stiles makes sure that the thin line isn’t broken before he puts the jar back in it’s place. He grabs his phone from the desk, slips it into his pocket and takes one more look around the room. It’s messy and just screams  _ ‘Stiles’ _ but there is something else there. Maybe it’s the underlying scent of Derek’s aftershave that still lingers in his nose. It feels soothing, somehow. 

“Great,” he shakes his head with a snort. “What a time to start crushing on the Sourwolf.” It’s more than a crush, though. This, whatever it is, has been building up for some time now and Stiles can accept that it may never be more than a close friendship. 

He ambles down the stairs while his mind wanders back to all the times they saved each other’s lives. How it all started with that fateful night in the pool and slowly went on to long talks while driving home together. If Roscoe and the Camaro could talk they would have quite a few stories to tell. He still remembers the drive home after they found Erica and Boyd. Derek’s grip on the steering wheel had been white knuckled but there was no anger in his eyes. Only relieve and tiredness.

Stiles heads into the kitchen and starts the coffeemaker once again. Then frowns at it in confusion. Something feels  _ off. _ He looks out of the window but there is nothing unusual. The grass in the area needs a good trim again, but that’s it. 

A shiver runs along Stiles’ spine and his heartbeat rises. There is something inside the room with him and it’s watching him. He can feel it. Something that doesn’t belong into the house. His fingers tremble a little when he turns back towards the coffeemaker. The skin on the back of his neck feels hypersensitive and his shoulderblades start to  _ itch. _

“What the hell?” Stiles breathes when his gaze lands on the reflective surface of the coffee pot. He ducks just in time to avoid being hit by the small flask. His body moves on autopilot. With a roll sideways he brings the kitchen table between himself and his attacker. 

“Stand still, foolish human,” a voice huffs. It sounds young and female but that doesn’t mean anything. He met too many creatures that lured people in with their voices, by this rate it could be a freaking mountain troll and he wouldn’t be surprised. Though a mountain troll would probably just crack the house like an oyster to get to the squishy human inside. 

Another flask breaks only a few inches away from his foot and Stiles dives to the side. He rolls over his shoulder and springs back up to his feet. His eyebrows rise when he comes face to face with a young girl in a grey shirt and dark blue jeans. She looks barely older than fourteen. 

“Does your mom know that you’ve been breaking and entering?” The question slips from his lips before he can stop it. The girl halts in her movement and blinks at him for a second. Then she scowls and throws another flask at him.

“Just keep still and this will be over in a few seconds,” she hisses when he dodges yet another attack. 

“Nope, sorry,” Stiles replies and dives around the table. “It’s a very deeply ingrained reaction that takes absolutely no conscious thought from my part. My body moves completely on it’s own. And just how many of these things do you have?” The next flask crashes just above his shoulder and his neck gets hit with a few drops of whatever liquid is in it. The skin beneath the liquid goes ice cold immediately and the itch in and around his shoulder blades grows. 

“What are you?” the girl ask suddenly and Stiles freezes for a second. The moment is almost enough for her to hit him with a full flask but he dodges it just in time. “You should be a normal human. Completely use- and worthless for me. But something about you isn’t right! So  _ what are you?” _

The matter of his species seems to be rather important to her but Stiles can’t fathom  _ why _ . He only knows that her words sting just the slightest bit even though he shouldn’t care about her words. He knows that the pack, both packs actually, value him in one way or another. 

“Well, I can assure you that I am a simple human being, made up by bones, muscles and various organs that work together to keep the hull working,” Stiles quips and flings himself out of the kitchen and towards the front door. He needs to lure her out of the house and fast. His father, despite his exhaustion, could wake up from all the ruckus they’re creating and that’s the last thing Stiles wants or needs right now. 

“You can’t be human,” the girl argues. “If you were then this house wouldn’t feel so .. so .. familiar!” 

A duet of angry roars interrupts Stiles’ next answer. His heartbeat stops for a moment before it triples its cadence. Just behind the girl, he can see two drops of red glow just outside of the kitchen window. He also knows that Derek has no way of getting inside because of the barriers. Just the same as Scott does on the front of the house. Maybe he’s not alone, though. Allison should be with him and she  _ can _ pass over the mountain ash barrier.

“Stiles! What is going on? What was that?” Stiles resists the urge to close his eyes and scream. He silently curses the world to hell and back. Of course his father is awake now. Who wouldn’t have woken up after the howls of two werewolves and the constant breaking of glass.

“Dad, please, stay upstairs,” he yells back. “I got everything under control. Just, stay upstairs!” He prays that his father will listen to him but the heavy thumps coming down the stairs tell him otherwise. He should have known. They are too much alike to just  _ listen. _

“Stiles! What -” his father stops in his track on the last step. Stiles knows that because the customary squeak, that comes from the old floorboards, is missing. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” 

The girl sighs and rolls her eyes but then she grins.

“You should have just done what your son said,” she grouses. “Now I have to take you, too, and your soul isn’t going to get me a lot of points. But alas, every point I get counts.” 

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” Another roar from outside interrupts the girl from answering. A second roar follows the first, then a third - they echo throughout the house, one after the other until Stiles is sure he heard all pack members. There are shouts of ‘Stiles’ and ‘John’, too. Behind him he hears his dad wonder what the hell is going on outside. 

“Those puppies of yours are rather annoying, aren’t they?” she asks with a smirk, twirling another flask in her hand. “But don’t you worry, once I’m done with you, I will take care of them. Them and that pesky Banshee you seem to be friends with. She is a clever girl and so brave. She wasn’t even scared when she found my little present. Just like that puppy friend of yours. How is it that he’s an Alpha?” She tilts her head with a smirk.

“Well, we have no idea what you are,” he flails his arms and almost hits his father across the face. “We knew that feather has some kind of meaning, given how we found it at every crime scene. We just had no idea what kind of creature you would turn out to be! I mean, when I think about someone strong enough to kill a siren or even a vampire then a little girl is the last thing that comes to my mind!”

Behind him, his dad unlocks the safety of his gun and Stiles shivers. He tried so hard to keep him out of this mess and now he is right in the middle of it. 

“Wait, what?” The girl looks honestly surprised at first and then annoyed. “You have no idea what I am? Or who I am? I am Azza, a fallen angel and a member of the fourth circle of hell. And you? You are going to get me into the third circle. Or rather, that pesky soul of yours will!” 

“Dad, I need you to get out of the house. NOW,” Stiles keeps his eyes on the girl, the angel. His shoulders are itching fiercely now and something tells him that if he doesn’t act now this won’t end well for either of them. 

“Stiles,” his father argues but there is no time for that. The air inside the room changes. It crackles with energy when the girl takes another step forward.

“Enough games. Once I have your soul I will know what you are and why this house feels so familiar,” she promises and the front door breaks the moment the girl throws another flask at them.   
  


*~*~*

Stiles feels like he’s floating. His limbs are heavy but in a comfortable, tired way. The maelstrom of thoughts that usually run circles inside his head have slowed down, too. They are only crawling by now. Something warm and gentle trails over his cheek. 

“It’s time to wake up, my little Genim.” The voice is soft and achingly familiar. For years he has only been able to hear it in his dreams. 

“Mom?” his eyes flutter open for a moment. The light blinds him, though, and he closes them again quickly. Seconds tick by before he tries it again, slower this time. It is still bright around him but now his eyes are starting to get used to it. Something touches his hair and Stiles turns his head slightly in that direction. His breath hitches when his gaze falls onto a face that he still misses. 

“Mom,” his voice breaks and her smile turns even gentler. She nods and runs her fingers through his hair again. She looks just like the last time he saw her. Stiles swallows and sits up. His eyes never leave her face. “Where am I? Am I dead?” 

He can’t be dead. Who will take care of his dad? Or Scott? And what about Derek? Oh God,  _ Derek.  _ Blood rushes in his ears and his chest heaves with every breath he tries to take. He can’t be  _ dead! _

“Genim. Genim! Breathe, child, breathe,” his mother’s voice cuts through the fog that threatened to settle in his mind. “You are not dead. Not yet. You can still go back.”

“What?” He looks at her again, really looks at her and freezes. Behind his mother, gently moving with the slight wind that brushes over him, is a set of delicate, white wings. The edges shimmer ivory in the pale sunlight. He has seen that shimmer before and it makes him shiver.

“Mom, what,” he swallows again and looks back at her face. “Are you - an angel?” 

She nods once and turns slightly, so that Stiles can reach out and touch her wings. The feathers are soft and warm underneath his fingers. He shakes his head in wonder. 

“Have you always been an angel?” Claudia chuckles and nods her head.

“I was your father’s guardian angel before I fell in love with him and became his wife,” she pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around her knees. Stiles remembers her sitting like that. She used to curl up on the floor with him when he played. His heart aches. He misses her so much. 

“Unfortunately an angel can only live so long among humans before we need to return to where we belong,” her smile turns sad. “I miss your father every day and it pains me to see you two hurt so much. I would do it all again, though, if given the chance. Every minute I had with your father and with you is a fond memory for me.” She reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair. 

“So, that makes me a half-angel, then?” Stiles asks thoughtfully. “Is that why I can use mountain ash the way I do?” His mother nods again.

“Yes, and you can do so much more if you get some training,” she moves her wings to shove him gently. It makes them laugh for a moment. “What is known as a ‘Spark’ on earth is actually always a child between and angel and a human. Sometimes the human side is stronger and there is less magic to work with. Other times the angel blood has the upper hand and the Spark can actually grow wings. Though it may take you years to accomplish it. Or control it.”

“Wait, I can grow wings?” Stiles stares at her. “Oh my God, that’s so awesome!” He fistbumps the air and falls back onto the ground. “That means I can help my friends! Thanks, Mom!” 

Claudia laughs and shakes her head.

“You are already helping them,” she counters. “You see them for what they are and persist where others would simply give up. You push them out of their comfort zone and allow them to grow stronger.”

“Some people would call that nagging,” Stiles snorts but he is glad that his mother thinks he is doing something good for the packs. “I wonder, though, what happened down there? I mean, you said I’m not dead yet. What did you mean by that?”

“There are two ways to collect souls,” his mother says after a few moments of contemplation. “When people die, their souls start their journey into the limbo. That is the ‘waiting area’, if you want to call it that. The souls come to that place and are guided onwards. And then there is the forceful way. Soul collectors and those who want to rise up in the circles of hell use a potion that rips the soul from the body even though it isn’t the right time yet.” 

“So that’s what was in these bottles,” Stiles muses. “Doesn’t that mean that I am dead?” 

“Yes and no,” she looks at him. “Your soul has been partially separated from your body. Your status as a half-angel made the potion not potent enough to complete the process.” A gentle smile pulls on her lips. “You are also anchored by someone down there. Someone who loves you very much. Someone who wants you back sooner rather than later.” Her smile turns teasing. 

Stiles swallows hard and his mind wanders to Derek again. As much as he thinks that it might be his father, he hopes that it is Derek.

“How do I get back then? I mean, I miss you so much and Dad does, too,” he swallows hard and sits up. “But I can’t die yet. There is still so much to do. And who else will make sure that Dad is eating healthy? Or that Scott doesn’t stay with his head up in the clouds? And-” He breaks off when his mother pulls him into a hug.

“You need to let someone take care of you, too, Genim,” she whispers into his ear. “Don’t try to do everything by yourself. You have a family that stands behind you. And I don’t mean just your dad. You have both packs with you, too. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Stiles breathes. “God, I’m so going to freak out when I’m properly awake again.” 

“Probably, but now you need to wake up, Genim. Tell your father that I still love him and that I will always love him. Now, wake up.” 

“Wake up.”

“Wake up, Stiles.”

“Please.”   
  


*~*~*

The first thing Stiles feels is a curious lack of pain. He knows that he should be hurting. He distinctly remembers flying through the front door when Azza lost her patience. If she had any that is. He remembers the wolves roaring and his dad shouting. Melissa was there, too. So, he should be hurting. 

“Stiles?” He knows that voice. He can pick it out in a crowd. 

“Hey Derek,” he whispers and forces his eyelids open. They feel like someone tried to glue them shut. He blinks a little until two faces swim into focus. Along with the dirty white ceiling of a hospital room. “Hey Dad.”

“Hey son,” his dad looks tired. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and he still has a smudge of blood across his cheek. “How are you feeling? Any pain?” 

“Good, tired but painless,” he turns his head and smiles at Derek. “You’re better than any painkiller anyway.” Because Derek holds his hand between both of his and thick black lines run down his arms and vanish shortly before his elbows. He looks just as tired as his dad. Yet he has a small smile on his face. One that gently crinkles the skin around his eyes. 

“You should smile more, Der,” Stiles breathes, “you’re cute like that.” 

“And you are high,” Derek replies but his ears flush and he ducks his head.

“Nope, not high, just honest,” a hand on his shoulder pulls his attention back to his father. “Dad?” The grip on his shoulder tightens.

“I thought, I had lost you.” He can see the tears glitter in his dad’s eyes. His heart aches but he shakes his head. “You have been unconscious for a day now. Your heart stopped beating. Twice.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” he wonders. “Mum said that I wasn’t dead yet. So maybe she meant that.” 

“Claudia? Stiles, you talked to your mother?” He can feel his dad tremble as he nods. “But how is that possible?” The question makes Stiles grin slightly.

“How much do you know already, Dad?” What he really asks, though, is:  _ Will you believe me? _ Understanding dawns in his father’s eyes and he rubs his free hand over his face.

“Just tell me, Stiles,” his dad sighs. “After werewolves, hunters, banshees and  _ angels _ \- I doubt there is anything that will surprise me anymore. But maybe, I should sit down for this.” , he says as he pulls up a chair. The hand he has on Stiles’ shoulder doesn’t let go. 

“Right, first and foremost, Mum still loves you and she will always love you,” Stiles smiles and waits while his dad tries to compose himself. It takes a couple of minutes but then he takes a deep breath and nods. Derek on the other hand readies himself to leave.

“No, don’t go, Derek,” Stiles tightens his grip as much as he can, though it still is rather weak. “Please. I need you here, too. There is something that concerns you, too. Don’t look like that, Worrywolf, it’s good news.” 

“Okay,” Derek sits back down and watches him. As does his dad and so Stiles starts talking. It takes him a while to sort everything into the right order. His voice catches on some of the words and tears blur his vision but he continues. The words come easier after a while. 

When everything is said, a comfortable silence settles over them. It only breaks when the sheriff starts laughing. He begins softly, just a chuckle but soon he’s full on laughing. It sounds free and weightless. It sounds like something from their past.

“I can’t believe you are a half-angel,” John says, when he calmed himself down again. “You don’t behave like one but then again, you mother was a mischievous one, too. So, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Oh dad,” Stiles sighs. “If only you knew.” 

“I know enough by now, son. Enough to actually be included the next time something supernatural threatens Beacon Hills,” his dad shoves him, very carefully. “I should have known that something in this town was not as it seemed. Though I would have never thought it to be werewolves and other creatures.”

“You are taking it remarkably well, dad,” Stiles says. Derek snorts and grins at him. 

“He does now. You should have seen him when we had to explain to him why our eyes glow and exactly why Allison knows how to kill a man in fifty different ways. Melissa nearly had to sedate him for that,” Derek explains with a slight grimace. It seems like that discussion hadn’t been pleasant.

“I’m glad that I wasn’t there for that then,” Stiles grins cheekily. “Though we have a lot to talk about when I feel better again. Right now I feel like a squeezed orange.” 

“You should try and sleep a bit more, son,” the sheriff stands up. “I’ll go and let the rest of the pack know what’s going on. Derek? Are you going to stay here?” 

“Yeah, I’ll stay for a little longer. Make sure he really goes to sleep,” Derek says.

“ _ He _ is right here, thank you very much,” Stiles huffs but it’s with a smile. His dad and Derek both look at him with a raised eyebrow. Then John smiles, shakes his head and leaves the room. Silence settles over them and Stiles allows himself to drift along the edges of sleep once more. He is alive, his dad is alive, Derek is and from the lack of sadness around the rest of the pack is still alive, too. 

“Do I want to know what happened after I passed out? Or not-died?” he asks after a while. Derek jerks a little as if he hadn’t expected him to talk again. It makes him smile.

“It was rather anticlimactic, actually,” he answers after a moment. “Lydia found Azza’s amulet in the tree outside her home and used it in a locator spell. They called me and the rest of the pack as soon as they had her. The amulet is what allowed Azza to get close enough to her victims to hit them with the potion. It masked her heartbeat, her temperature and allowed her to be invisible for a short amount of time. Losing it meant she wasn’t really able to fight. Allison shot her with an arrow. Right through the heart.”

“That is a lot less exciting than I would have thought,” Stiles huffs after a moment. He falls silent again until a thought pops up in his head. “Hey Derek?” He looks over at the wolf who merely raises both eyebrows.

“How come you ended up in my room for the buddy system? I mean, you could have sent Isaac or Scott or anyone else, really?” Stiles doesn’t like to admit it but hope makes his heart beat just a little faster. He wants his mum to be right and that this isn’t just the result of ‘who drew the shot stick’. But Derek hadn’t reacted at all when he told them what his mom had said. 

Now though Derek’s ears flush pink and he hides his face behind their clasped hands. Which is answer enough for Stiles.

“Derek? Once I can stand up again, and given that Dad doesn’t ground me until I’m ninety, would you go on a date with me?” 

Derek remains silent for long enough that Stiles feels the first tendrils of panic float up in him. He opens his mouth to make a joke, to take the seriousness out of the moment, when Derek presses a small kiss to his knuckles.

“I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end it seems! Thanks for reading! Please, leave a comment down below and let me know what you think? Or if you don't want to comment on here - drop me a line on my [tumblr.](http://acaranna.tumblr.com/)


End file.
